


Stories and Games

by the_glow_worm



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Comeplay, Did I already mention dubious consent because it's a feature, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Happy Ending, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with the thinnest trellis of a plot and a romantic happy ending stuck on because I can, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_glow_worm/pseuds/the_glow_worm
Summary: Ever since his wife's death, Thranduil has been calling for another girl every night. Tauriel may not know many stories, but she does play games... Please read the tags thoroughly before reading. Not for everyone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A very different story than These Green Shadows. Be warned.

She looked perfectly ordinary; strangely ordinary. Most of them came to him in their best clothing and jewels, wreathed in fabric as much as their fear. She was in plain travelling-clothes, meeting his eyes quite lightly, as if his stare was no burden to her. He circled her curiously.

 

“Name?”

 

Her head turned, as if wanting to keep an eye on him, but stopped. Good.

 

“Tauriel, my lord.”

 

Her voice was steady. Curiosity sharpened to lust. He circled closer to her, his face a bare inch from her skin, breathing in her smell.

 

“Are you ready to serve your king?” he whispered into her ear.

 

“My lord,” she said, without inflection. Thranduil pulled her hard against himself, letting her feel his erection against the swell of her buttocks. She was finally, he noted, starting to breathe fast. His hand crept down over her abdomen, down to the heat between her legs, palpable even through the rough fabric. Perhaps she would struggle. He felt a sharp stab of lust at the idea and stepped away from her, revolted and yet longing.

 

“Take off your clothes.”

 

Tauriel stumbled only once with the buttons; just once, but Thranduil saw, and he smiled grimly to himself. He always liked the ones who pretended to be brave, even more than the ones who thought they would seduce him and make him love them. They were equally foolish, of course.

 

He unclasped his own robes as he watched her undress. The night air coming in through the window felt cool against his skin. It raised gooseflesh on hers, marring the perfection of her slim body in the moonlight. She was beautiful, yet all of them had been beautiful. He prowled towards her, hungry, and then stopped, noticing—

 

“Your hair,” he said. “Let it down.”

 

Tauriel’s hands twitched, but she did not otherwise move. Thranduil was surprised to see a small spark of defiance in her eyes, and surprised also, even after so many nights living with the rage inside of him, at the depth of anger it stirred in him. In an instant he was on her, tumbling her bodily into the bed and pinning her there. She _was_ struggling now, soundlessly; so she knew it was pointless to cry out. It was pointless also to struggle, but she bucked up nonetheless, straining with every part of her that could move. Her legs were pinned beneath Thranduil’s weight, but her arms were flying up, aiming for his nose, his throat. With a growl he clasped his hands around her wrists. They felt as delicate as a bird’s bones. He was panting hard, although he had hardly exerted himself. He felt full of violence and lust, and could not tell where the desire for one ended and the other began. He tightened his grip on the girl’s wrists, feeling sinew and bone beneath his fingers, and slammed them to either side of her head.

 

She went still. Struggling had been a moment’s impulsive action; this stillness was discipline. Self-control. Rage crept up Thranduil’s spine.

 

“You have no power to refuse me here,” he snarled into her tight, rigidly controlled expression. “Remember who you are.”

 

He was holding her wrists with only one hand now, stretching both arms far above her head so that the long lovely line of her body stretched out before her. His other hand skated over bare skin, watching how she reacted minutely to his touch, watching the small hairs on her body standing up after his fingers had gone over them, watching the darker skin of her nipples prickle beneath the circle of his thumb. She drew in a small, small gasp as his fingers worked his way up her neck, and for a moment Thranduil allowed himself to indulge in a thought of squeezing her there, and watching her gasp for breath. But he moved his hand away, with an effort; he was gripping her hair, now, and found the hidden clip within it.

 

“ _Never_ refuse me again,” he said, and yanked it out.

 

He could see in her face that he had hurt her. But her hair was spilling out over his hand, over his bed, and now that it had been freed he could truly see the color of it; _color_ , where the moonlight had cast everything in grey and silver, and her hair was red, red, red.

 

“Like fire,” he said, suddenly hoarse. He let go of her wrists to run it through his hands, to grab greedy fistfuls of the silken strands.

 

“Yes,” said Tauriel, beneath him. A fury just beneath her skin made her look incandescent, glowing with light. Her eyes were lit up with it. “Like fire.”

 

A blind lust overtook him then, as it often did these days; some beast moving about his blood and body for him. He lowered his mouth to hers, hungry, open-mouthed, his hands grasping more tightly at her hair, conscious of a driving urge that only she could sate. Her hands were free; she raked at his shoulders with her fingernails. He felt the skin break, blood welling out. The pain acted on him like a goad. He should punish her for that. He should, he would, but for the moment he could only moan against her mouth. He was losing control. He wanted to rip her open, the way she had ripped him open. Their faces were apart now, hovering above her lips by a bare inch, feeling her breath come in and out as she panted below him. She looked into his eyes; he did not know what she saw there. She darted her face away from his lips and bit him below the jaw. Her teeth felt sharp against his skin.

 

He moaned again, involuntary, and then felt truly savage. “Enough,” he snarled, in a thickening voice. He scarcely recognized his own voice, as if he was an animal. He laid his fingers around her shoulders, tight enough to bruise, and standing up on the bed threw her down again, facedown. Panting, he knelt down above her. When she levered herself up on her elbow, rising, he grabbed a fistful of her fire-red hair and pushed her forehead down into the bed. His hand tightened in her hair, his breath coming fast. His other hand reached below her, bringing her hips up to his. Her back arched, perhaps involuntarily, and Thranduil hissed as her buttocks ground against him. He could not think of anything but the sensation of her skin against his. He rubbed his cock between her legs, back and forth. Her breath was coming faster, too; he could hear it, harsh gasps only a little muffled by the blankets. The sound of it was more arousing than he could have imagined. She was already wet for him; he could feel the slickness spread over his cock as he rubbed against her. He could not wait any longer. His shaking hand guided his cock to her entrance. He could be gentle with her. He could. He could.

 

He couldn’t. In a single violent thrust he pushed inside of her, sinking into her as far as he could go. Thranduil groaned, low in his throat, at the heady warmth of her. She was so tight around his cock that he looked into a moonlight-drenched room and saw only black stars in his vision. Beneath him, Tauriel made a choked-back noise and he thrust again, involuntarily. As the stars cleared away, he saw her hands make claws into the bedspread. She was less successful in choking back her moan this time.

 

His hand still wrapped tightly in her hair, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the back of her neck, breathing in the sweet smell of her.

 

“Moan for me again,” he whispered, and she snarled at him wordlessly. But when he thrust again, and again, the slickness and wetness of her making his movements slippery and wild and too violent, she did moan, her breath hitching up brokenly. It was the sweetest music Thranduil had ever heard. He saw her bite into the bedspread, trying to silence herself, but her hips were moving with his, pressing up onto his cock, and a moment later she had forgotten herself entirely. Her mouth was wide open, wanton, moaning aloud. She cried out when he bit down on the back of her neck, and in that moment he felt her come. He was beginning to shudder himself; he fought it, desperate to hold on, but the wetness of her was too intoxicating. He could not stop or slow down, and as he came inside of her she moaned one last time.

 

Her eyes were still closed as he lay down beside her, her mouth lushly round in the memory of pleasure. His gaze roved over her face. There was nothing extraordinary in it, with neither the features of an aristocrat nor the demeanor of a peasant. Thranduil had never seen her before; he was certain of that. He would have remembered her hair.

 

As if she sensed his scrutiny on her, Tauriel opened her eyes. Her face had changed; it was composed, now, cool disfavor evident in every minute expression. Thranduil had seen it given entirely to unknowing pleasure just a moment before. A thought occurred to him. Had she struggled against him just so she wouldn’t have to see his face?

 

Thranduil looked up into the darkness of the ceiling. It didn’t matter. She would be gone tomorrow night in any case, just like the rest. But tonight, sleep would not come. It rarely ever did.

 

“Tell me a story,” he said.

 

“I know no stories,” said the woman in his bed.

 

“It wasn’t a request,” he said coldly.

 

“Is this what the others did? Told you lies?”

 

He turned his head to face her. Lust flowed unexpectedly through him again as he met her clear, unafraid gaze; lust mixed, as it always was now, with anger.

 

“If you won’t,” he said, biting back a snarl, “then you’ll serve in other ways.” He rolled onto her, pinning back her arms and hair. The hair escaped from around his fist, but it was enough to keep her head back. He thrust blindly into her. She was still wet from before; she still made his movements just as quick and feral. Her body was moving beneath him, responding to his touch, but her mouth was stubbornly closed, her teeth digging into her lips to keep herself from moaning.

 

“Stop pretending,” he hissed. His hand crept down from her hair over her face. She leaned into it, eyes closed, and then jerked away. His fingers found the perfect line of her throat and squeezed.

 

Instinctively, her mouth flew open. She drew in a ragged breath—Thranduil thrust hard against her.

 

“Oh,” said Tauriel. “ _Oh_.”

 

Her legs came up and circled high over his back, taking him deeper into her. She did not stop moaning. Thranduil closed his eyes, trying to lose himself in the pleasure and forget the sensation of his fingers around her throat. He tangled them tightly into her hair again and pressed his face to the crook of her neck, panting his own moans into her skin, for her alone—at least, tonight.

 

There would be another girl next time, as there always was. They each took their reward as they left his chambers, but even knowing that the reward doubled for each additional night, they never came back.

 

Thranduil collapsed against Tauriel at last, fully spent. She would be no different, he thought muzzily as he pushed away from her on the bed. The bruises he had left her on her neck and thighs would darken and swell. Like the others, she would sense the barely restrained violence in him, the feverish strange lust he had carried ever since the death of his wife, and flee. And so would the next girl, and the next.

 

He closed his eyes. Perhaps sleep would come tonight after all.

 

But sleep was not merciful, and so he was still lying awake in the dark when Tauriel slipped from the bed. She sounded as if she was limping, as if she was sore, but Thranduil did not ask. He heard her put on her clothes again and pad away across the floor. She paused, before she opened the door, and then she was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

The next night there was a knock on his bedchamber door. Thranduil looked up from his wineglass, very surprised; at this time of night, that meant only one thing, and lately it had been taking some time to find new girls that were to his taste.

 

“Enter,” he called, not rising. He felt oddly bored at the thought. He would finish his wine before he took this one, he thought; or perhaps he would drink it off the hollow curves of her body while she trembled beneath him. He knew that was a lie, of course; his desire, these days, did not allow for patience or for subtlety. The door opened, and Thranduil was instantly standing upright by his overturned chair, alert and restless; it was Tauriel.

 

“My lord,” she said, straight-backed. Her hair was up. He intently catalogued every detail. There was a line of bruises at her neck, which her collar disdained to disguise. If she was sore, she showed no signs of it in her bearing.

 

“Why are you here?” he demanded suddenly, sharp. Her eyes flicked down to the floor and back again.

 

“Would you rather I not be?” Her eyes were challenging him.

 

Thranduil drew in a breath. He was abruptly dizzy with want, desire moving through his body like a prowling beast. He wanted her naked, he wanted her beneath him on the floor, writhing and pleading. He wanted to sink into the hot dark warmth of her. He wanted to leave bruises on her lips, on her breasts, her neck, all of her soft inner parts. He wanted to fuck her like he was going to destroy her, until she was sobbing and limp. Above all he wanted not to want these things.

 

He was leaving fingernail marks on the table.

 

“I was hoping,” said Tauriel. “For some wine. Before we—began.”

 

“It won’t be easier for you when you’re drunk,” he said abruptly, but he turned away to get a second glass anyway. He poured for her, conscious of his skin, too hot against the cool glass, and an overwhelming impulse to dash the wine glasses against the wall and take her there on the table. He downed his own glass, quickly, although he knew that it wouldn’t numb the urge. He turned back to Tauriel, who was turning her own glass around in her hands. “You’re the only—” his tongue wasn’t working. “Only one—one who—” he couldn’t recognize the sounds his mouth was making. Shadows were creeping up from the corners of his vision. He was on the floor, without being conscious of it, staring up at Tauriel’s face. She set her wineglass down, undrunk, and set a small empty vial next to it.

 

“…who came back,” he managed to whisper.

 

Thranduil knew he was awake when he felt the moonlight pressing against his eyelids. Sensations were only vaguely returning to him. His hands were behind his back—bound, he thought—and there was a similar sensation of pressure around his ankles. He waited. The bed—he was on the bed—dipped on his left side, and a hand reached out and touched his face. Thranduil lunged forward; he immediately choked. His neck had been restrained as well, and for a moment he could not breathe. A moment later he dragged in a deep breath, filling his lungs, and opened his eyes.

 

He was naked on his own bed, his neck tethered—with thin rope, it felt like—to the carved headboard, and his hands fastened behind his back. He could feel a line around his waist as well. Lines of rope extended from the loops around his ankles to the posts on opposite sides of the bed. Sitting upright, propped like a doll against the headboard, he could meet Tauriel at eye level.

 

She, too, was naked. In the glimmering light Thranduil could see that her arms and wrists were festooned with bruises, like dark jewelry; memories from last night. He could not help it, even now. He wanted her badly. She put her knee up on the bed, revealing dark bruises at her thighs, and crawled to him across the bed. She stopped just short of touching him.

 

“Well, my lord?”

 

Thranduil did not bother to test the strength of the ropes again. “Let me go,” he said, heavy with menace.

 

“I don’t think I will,” said Tauriel. She leaned in to him, her lips tickling his ear. “This time, you’ll moan for _me_.”

 

He snapped his head to the side to try to bite her. Tauriel dodged back, faster than he thought possible, and slapped him across the face. He drew in a sharp, quick breath. There was triumphant color in Tauriel’s face, lit again like a fire burning beneath her skin.

 

“Yes,” she said, and dragged her nails down his chest, over his stomach, and down into the exposed valley of his hips, tracing lines of exquisite pain down his body. Thranduil moaned out loud, and then locked his jaws shut, hard. He felt feverish. Her hands were wrapping themselves around her cock.

 

“I want to hear everything,” she said. “Every moan and whisper, or I will never let you loose. So don’t you dare think,” she added, vicious, “of biting your tongue.”

 

And she lowered her mouth to his cock.

 

His mind held nothing else but the sensation. He had never allowed a woman to—not since—It was too much like having no control. Her mouth was everywhere on him. He could not—he could not stand it—he could not stand for her to stop. She ran her tongue around the tip of his cock and he gasped, bucking and surging, but she held him down easily. Abruptly he realized how powerless he was. He did not imagine his guards would hear him through several layers of walls and doors, even if they were not under strict orders never to disturb the king at night. In the next moment he had lost that thought as abruptly as it came, slipping away from him like a small fish darting into a dark ocean. Pleasure was coming over him in waves.

 

Her hands were pressing into his hips, her body warm and heavy against his legs. Her tongue swirled out over his entire length and Thranduil gasped, seeing stars burst in his vision. Unthinkingly he jerked against his bonds, longing only to be free again, to force her onto her back and take her, to make him as thoroughly helpless as she had made him.

 

The ropes held; he choked against the tether around his neck. Tauriel sat up and looked at him, her fingers stroking maddeningly along his inner thighs. There was a shiny slickness along the corners of her mouth that made his blood pulse in his ears to see. He strained as far forward as he could without choking.

 

“Let me go,” he said again. Rage and lust moved together inside of him. His cock was so hard that it was nearly painful.

 

“Why?” Her hand moved lazily up to his cock, her fingernails dragging lightly. He drew in a sharp breath before he could stop himself. “So you can have some semblance of control? But you must know that to be a falsehood. You can’t even control yourself.” Her hand squeezed, and Thranduil suddenly could not refute her, even if he was capable of the words to do it. He bucked up into her touch helplessly. Tauriel watched him grind against her hand, shuddering, making animal noises deep in his throat.

 

“Do you like it, my lord?” Her voice had become husky, low. Her hand pumped up and down his length, still slick from her mouth, and he let out a low moan, his back arching forward.

 

“Let me go,” he said once more, when he could breathe again, “And I will show you how much I like it.”

 

Tauriel’s hand withdrew; Thranduil choked back a whimper.

 

“You’ll have to do better than that, my lord,” she said. Her hands were moving over her own body, skating along the perfect curve of her breasts and down the flawless stretch of her stomach. His hips bucked again, involuntarily, as her fingers slipped down between her legs. A low moan came from her lips as she moved them slowly, gently exploring herself. One hand emerged again, glistening, leaving a shining trail on her body as she brought it up to her breasts, her neck, her face, and into her hair. With a twist of her clip her hair came falling down around her shoulders in a glorious cascade.

 

Thranduil caught his breath. Her fingers were circling her clit now, moving rhythmically in time with her breathing. Tauriel tipped her head back in ecstasy, rocking back and forth against her fingers as they circled and probed. Her face was lit by moonlight, made pure by sheer pleasure. He could see, whenever he could tear his eyes from her face, that she was as wet as she had been the night before. Desire so strong that it had become pain shot through him as she climaxed onto her fingers. He wanted—he wanted—

 

Tauriel panted for breath.

 

“If you beg, I might let you come,” she whispered. The wetness between her legs dripped down onto his cock.

 

“No,” he said. Sweat was standing out on his shoulders. “I will not beg.”

 

“You’re going to have to,” she said, smiling as if she already knew that he was lying. Tauriel came lower, lower, until the very head of his cock could just barely feel the swollen wet lips of her cunt.

 

Thranduil made a sharp, pained noise. The pent-up lust within him was so painful that he thought that he might pass out. Slowly, agonizingly, she moved back and forth above him, so that only the barest patch of his skin could feel her against him. Thranduil strained against his bonds. When he was free, he would rip her apart. He would—he could—

 

He could _feel_ how wet she was.

 

“Please,” he gasped. “Please, please…” He had no real consciousness of what he was saying. He was only aware of the excruciating agony of his desire. Her fingers, still wet from pleasuring herself, traced lightly along his cock. He made a cry like a wounded animal.

 

“I don’t think you want it enough,” she hissed.

 

“I want—I want it, I want _you_ —please, _please_ —”

 

A moment passed like an eternity. It was the only thing he could do to keep himself from begging again, and again. He was having trouble remembering who he was. He could only think of how much he wanted her. Slowly, Tauriel brought her hand up to his mouth. He waited, trembling.

 

“Lick my fingers clean.”

 

Desperate, eager, he opened his mouth. He lapped at the wetness at her fingertips, drawing his tongue over each finger, licking at the crevices between. He was even overeager, catching her with his teeth as he took her fingers into his mouth, sucking them dry, swirling his tongue across her nails. He heard Tauriel’s breath hitch.

 

“Yes,” she said. “ _Oh_ , yes—” She drew her fingers out of his mouth to frame his face. He realized suddenly that she wanted to see his face, and just as suddenly was without the capacity to dwell upon that realization; she was lowering slowly onto his cock.

 

Entering her was maddening. She was tight, so tight that Thranduil felt as if he might explode from the overload of sensation, from the wet, tender heat that surrounded and caressed him. He tried to thrust against her, futilely; Tauriel easily held him down.

 

“Hold still,” she whispered. Was that a ghost of a smile of her face? “You’ll enjoy it more.” Her hips rolled smoothly against his.

 

This was nothing like the nights when he allowed his animal lust to empty itself. Slowly, deliberately, Tauriel moved her body against his. There was no doubt that she was in utter command of her own body; if Thranduil had room for envy, he might have felt it then. But his mind was blank for anything but the precise cataloguing of the swirl of her fingers over his chest, or the heat of her breath on his cheek. Every sensation now came in minute detail. Time was moving more slowly just to match her pace, allowing every single moment to expand and consume him. Each roll of her hips was an eternity of pleasure and waiting.

 

It had been over a year since he had been able to enjoy anything but the frenzied pace forced on him by his wildest urges. He could feel them even now, held only vaguely at bay…But he could do nothing for them now. He could only let Tauriel command his pleasure: and as if she had sensed the thought, her hips began to move more quickly against him.

 

The friction of their hips was delirious. Their eyes were looking into each other, their foreheads touching. He saw in a moment that Tauriel realized it, too, but neither of them could move away. Thranduil felt intoxicated, entranced. He was entirely at her mercy; whatever Tauriel chose to do, he would have to let happen to him. The thought was oddly—arousing.

 

“Tauriel,” he said, gasping, not remembering that he had not called a woman’s name in his bed for over a year. “ _Tauriel_ —”

 

And then abruptly he was empty of words, reduced to a low meaningless groaning. There were no words left in the language to describe the pleasure he was feeling.

 

“Tell me the truth,” said Tauriel. Her hips were undulating on his, and her expression was as feverish as his own must be. “You—you like it, don’t you? You like not being in control. You like giving in to me.”

 

Nothing could have compelled Thranduil to answer that question truthfully, yet he knew that the expression on his own face, the moans that he could not hold back or stop, were as good as a confession.

 

Tauriel leaned forward, rocking against him with greater speed and urgency. Thranduil gasped, shuddering against his bonds. She whispered,

 

“Almost as much as I like giving in to you.”

 

* * *

 

 

When she came back, late the next night, Thranduil was ready for her. Yanking wide the door, he pulled her inside by the hair, too hungry for her to wait. Her low cry of pain sent the blood rushing from his head. He turned and pushed her into the wall, filled with savage yearning, barely remembering to slam the door closed behind her. Without even thinking about it, his mouth was on hers, and her lips were opening, yielding to his tongue. His hands were everywhere on her, moving with a restless energy, pushing her up against the wall, pulling at her clothing. He could feel her warmth through the worn fabric. His fingers felt clumsy, clawlike. Tauriel’s fingers were cleverer; Thranduil could feel his robe slipping off his shoulders already, and then her nails were raking down his chest, tracing along lines that were still tender from the night before.

 

A snarl rose in his throat, entirely involuntarily, and he gathered fistfuls of her clothing in his hands and jerked violently. Her clothing came apart at the seams.

 

Buttons were scattering over the floor, but that did not matter. She was naked, finally, although her breasts were still half-concealed by the last shreds of her clothing. A fierce tangle of her fire-red hair came down around her face, which looked back at him without fear. Her mouth was slightly parted, already swollen and glistening. He could not have turned away from her even if he had the choice.

 

Thranduil pulled her to him. Their bodies so close together that his erection was digging into both of their bellies. He was lost, his eyes closed, his face buried in the soft skin just beneath her jaw, conscious only of her soft moans in his ear. His arms coiled around her, wrapping around the impossibly slender breadth of her body. He was not aware of pulling her backwards; he only knew that if she was not with him, if he was not close to her always, he would shake apart at the seams…he could feel himself trembling.

 

He bumped into something hard and cool behind him—the table—in a moment he had turned and pushed Tauriel down onto it. Although she gasped at the sudden coolness against her skin, he held her down against it, one hand snaking down along her ribs and the other at the back of her neck, holding her as firmly as a collar. She was bent over the table, the side of her face pressed against the cool dark wood and her hands tightly gripping the far edge. The eye that looked up at him was fever-bright as she shifted herself, deliberately, so that the smooth curve of her buttocks was grinding against his cock.

 

He moaned, deep in his throat, and relinquished his hold on her neck to put both hands on her hips. He was rocking against her already, impatient with lust, but Thranduil made himself wait, second by second…he wanted to see how long he could control himself…

 

He did not last long. Tauriel moaned, feeling him against her, and pushed her hips back into his. A growl escaped him; it did not sound like something produced by his own voice, but that was his hand, skating down between her legs to feel the lush smoothness there, stroking along and inside the hot slickness of her, guiding his cock to it. He could feel her quivering against him. They both were quivering, and then he was plunging into her, into the warmth and softness of her, and he could feel himself grow a little less wild. There was a desire in him now that felt different than what had come before.

 

It was hard to catch his breath. The heat of her body seemed to be diffusing through him, trickling through his bloodstream, setting his skin on fire. He gasped as he thrust into her, feeling himself twitching as she moaned. The room had ceased to exist; nothing was left in the world except for the two of them and the gleam of moonlight across the arc of her back as she writhed in pleasure

 

He wanted, desperately, to come inside of her, but he forced himself to stop. She made a whimpering sound of protest as he pulled out, his cock slick with her wetness. Still panting invitingly, she arched backwards towards him, offering—offering herself up to him. The urge to enter her again was nearly too powerful. With a growl he seized her by her slim waist and threw her bodily onto the bed. He was shaking as he straddled her; she was on her back, looking up at him with her fire-red hair tangled and tousled over her face and her breasts, her cheeks showing high color just below her eyes, bright and glassy with arousal. He wrapped his fingers around himself and pulled, trying to match the sensation of being inside her. The sight of Tauriel splayed out below him made him tremble with want—he pumped himself harder, faster, his fingers squeezing just as he had felt Tauriel tighten around him. Lust and sensation were roiling inside him like a storm, but he could not—there was nothing to match the pleasure of being inside of her—and then Thranduil gasped.

 

Lifting herself up on her elbows, Tauriel had managed to put her lips to his cock and was kissing it softly. Straining forward even more (Thranduil watched the play of her muscles working beneath her skin) Tauriel managed to take the head of his cock into her mouth—he could feel her tongue swirling and flicking—

 

And then, abruptly, it was too much. He jerked himself out of her mouth just as he began to come.

 

White ropes spurted out of him, falling scattershot over her body; her breasts, her hair, her open mouth all splattered by his come. Thin lines crossed over the line of her throat, nestling into the perfect hollow of her collarbones, over the bruises on her arms. Every bit of it marked her as his.

 

“Rub it into your skin,” he ordered, his voice very low. He was already beginning to get hard again. “I want you covered in it.”

 

Tauriel was shivering, a little, her nipples dark and erect. Her tongue flicked out and collected the streaks of come that he had left at the sides of her mouth. Slowly, without looking away from him, she obeyed his command.

 

The white streaks of his come turned translucent over her skin as she rubbed circles over her stomach, her breasts, her throat…

 

Thranduil was breathing fast, unable to control himself. He did not even try to wait, this time, before he was pushing apart her legs, wanting only to be with her, to be close to her...She was helping him, eagerly pulling him to her with her hands tangled in his hair, her legs wrapped over his shoulders. They both cried out as he pushed into her, their voices mingling and filling the air. Tauriel was rolling against him, drawing him deeper, her knees pressed almost to her shoulders. Thranduil was becoming harder even as he thrust into her, wanting to be closer, wanting to fill her up completely.

 

He dug his face into her skin, smelling himself on her even as he felt the wet tightness of her body move against him.

 

“You’re mine,” he panted harshly, into the darkness between them. “You’re mine, you’re mine. _You’re mine._ ”

 

And the darkness was all he saw as he came, pleasure coalescing deep in his body like electric sparks moving under his skin. Words were coming out of his mouth like a river in flood, yet their meaning was utterly lost to him. He could only hear the pounding of his blood in his ears as he murmured, over and over, into her skin.

 

When he could think and hear and see again, he found Tauriel lying motionless beneath him. Her dark eyes were the only thing moving, looking deeply into his own. Her face looked as if it held a question, but Thranduil turned away, rolling onto his back. He was not sure if he wanted to hear it.

 

He looked up at the dark ceiling.

 

“Tell me a story,” he said. He could still feel her eyes upon him.

 

“Why?” she asked. “Why do you ask for a story every night?”

 

Because _she_ had done it for him—

 

“Just do it,” he said, his voice harsher than he had meant it to be. “Or go.”

 

She must know how empty his threat was, but she did not leave.

 

“There was a lion,” Tauriel began, eventually. “He was the king of all animals.”

 

Thranduil closed his eyes and breathed again.

 

“And was he a good king?” he asked, distantly.

 

“Oh, yes,” she said softly. “He was the best of all kings.”

 

“Even to the deer and lambs? Lions must eat.”

 

“—Yes,” she said, after a pause. “It was true: he was a lion, and had a lion’s nature. He could be savage and cruel. But he could also be kind, and he was loved for it. Then one day, it all changed. A hunter’s arrow found him. It struck his side and stayed there.”

 

Thranduil said nothing.

 

“The arrow was not enough to kill him. But it dug at his side, and caused him pain, was where he could not reach to pull it out. Many beasts tried to pull it out for him, to help him. But the arrow had worked its way in so deeply that any effort caused the lion great pain. And the pain was so great that he began to savage any beast that tried.”

 

“Why would any of them try, then?” There was a bitter note in his voice that he could not explain.

 

“Some for gold, for the lion was very rich. Some hoped for power, for the lion was very powerful. And some—some thought that the lion had been such a good king, for them all, that it was worth the risk to see him healed again.”

 

“Go on,” said Thranduil, eventually. “What happened next?”

 

“For a long time, no animal was successful. Gradually, they began to stop trying, and learned to live with their tortured king. But then, one more beast came to the lion, to try to pull out the arrow.”

 

“And what was her motivation, then, of the three?”

 

“The three?”

 

“Money, power. Loyalty. Which was it?”

 

“Oh. None of them, my lord, save that she had an arrow in her side, too, and she knew how it hurt. That’s all,” Tauriel finished softly.

 

If there was more to the story, Thranduil did not know it. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When he woke, she was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Except that she was back, the next night. He was on his elbows and knees before her, lowering his head to her cunt and lapping at the soft inner parts of her, feeling himself get painfully hard at the sound of her moans of pleasure. But he would not be allowed to fuck her until she commanded him, so it was very, very important that he please his mistress…

 

And then the next night, when he pressed her against the wall so hard that the skin of her shoulder blades turned red and tender from the friction. And the night after, and the night after that…

 

At some point, without him really realizing it, she had become a fixture in his life. Or at least, in his bed; she was taking up well over half of it now, her arms and legs splayed out in a truly unnecessary fashion and her hair spreading wildly over the pillows.

 

Thranduil watched her breathing evenly beneath his sheets. There was a chasm-deep well of tiredness within him, but he could not seem to touch sleep.

 

“Tell me a story,” he said. Tauriel yawned, her face already half-buried in the pillow.

 

“A story?” Her voice told him that she, at least, was well on her way to sleep. Thranduil wondered when he had started permitting her to fall asleep in his bed. She hummed for a moment, apparently thinking.

 

“There was a woman once,” she began, her voice drowsy and far-away. “Her lover was destined for a dark, terrible doom…”

 

She paused, snuggling more deeply into her pillow, her breathing evening out and becoming deep, slow. For a moment Thranduil thought she had gone to sleep, and he reached out a tentative hand to brush over her hair. A wordless murmur came from within the depths of the pillow, and Tauriel turned her head a little so that her mouth was clear of the pillow.

 

“I saw you in court today,” she said sleepily.

 

Thranduil froze. They never spoke of what passed outside their bed.

 

“You were wearing silver,” continued Tauriel, unaware of his discomfort. Her eyes were closed, half-fluttering as if in a dream already. “Everyone looked to you with—with—”

 

“I didn’t see you,” said Thranduil, carefully.

 

“I know,” said Tauriel, just a slightest hint of smugness coming into her drowsy voice. She took a deep breath that turned into a yawn, making the hairs floating over her mouth flutter. “And so to save her lover,” she murmured, as if she had not taken a break from the story, “the woman had to hold him even as he transformed, hold him, and not let go…”

 

After a pause, during which Thranduil did not dare breathe, she continued on.

 

“He…he was turned into a snake, dripping poison from his fangs, and a lion, and…and…” She yawned again. “And a bristly bramble, and a bear, I think, and at last into a burning coal, which she threw down the well…”

 

When she did not pick up the story again, Thranduil at last felt moved to speak.

  
“And did she save him?” he asked urgently. Tauriel started a little, her eyes fluttering half-open and then closing again.

 

“Oh, yes,” she said, “and they had their child…” She reached out, groping, for the blanket; Thranduil pulled it to her shoulder and she let out a drowsy sound of satisfaction. “Your courtiers are odd,” she said. “I had never met them before…they fear you nearly as much as they love you. I think all of your subjects do…”

 

“You don’t,” said Thranduil.

 

“No,” agreed Tauriel, mumbling into the pillow. “I don’t fear you… “

 

She was asleep. After a moment Thranduil ran his hand down over the sweep of her hair, down her sleeping form, and wrapped his arm around the curve of her waist. She was warm and living beneath his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a new moon in the sky tonight. Thranduil always felt disoriented on nights without moonlight, as if something had disappeared from his life. His wife had died under the new moon; he remembered, as if remembering a terrible dream, waiting for the warmth to come back into her body, watching her cold and still face for hours on end with only the light of the stars to guide him, anticipating at any moment the bright flicker of her eyes, or the curve of her smile as she laughed at him for thinking, even for a moment, that something so precious as her life could be gone, gone forever…

 

Tauriel had not yet come.

 

At some point he fell asleep waiting for her to come in; a true sleep. He woke when he felt her creep in beside him on the bed. Still feeling muzzy, he pulled her close to him. He couldn’t remember whose night it was supposed to be. His hands, questing, found the small of her back and rested there. Her mouth was soft and yielding as he kissed her in the dark. Warmth seemed to follow her hands as they chased along his ribs, pulling at his clothes—

 

They undressed each other leisurely in the bed, when they could break apart from kissing. He liked the feeling of having Tauriel naked beside him, liked being able to run his hand down her back and feel only the heat of her skin. He thought he might subsist forever on the sensation of warmth and touch, but Tauriel had other ideas. Rolling him onto his back in the bed, she lowered herself slowly down onto his erection, moaning softly as she went. Thranduil hissed between his teeth. Pleasure was a living thing in his body, making him feel liquid and warm; he reached up for Tauriel, pulling her down to the bed. They moved together languidly, kissing and stroking. Breathy laughter escaped Tauriel, once, and he covered her mouth greedily with his kiss. She was smiling against his lips.

 

They lay in the bed together when it was done, facing each other with their breath mingling. Even this close to her, Thranduil could barely make out her face. Her hands, however, were fidgeting nervously with his hair; there was a sudden air of anticipation in her silence.

 

“You know, my reward for staying here—” she began, and halted. The breath froze in Thranduil’s lips. Was she going, then? At last?

 

“Yes?” he asked, neutral.

 

“It doubles,” she said. “Every day. By now, it must be near equal to the value of the kingdom.”

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil, careful not to betray his rising heartbeat. “I imagine so.”

 

“You cannot pay that,” said Tauriel. “But if you wanted—if you wanted—”

 

He waited.

 

“You could share the kingdom with me, instead. For as long as you wanted.”

 

His mouth was dry in a way that had nothing to do with lust. The silence stretched out for ages in the dark. Thranduil was suddenly, deeply glad that she could not see his face, even as he was filled with longing to see hers.

 

“You would spend your days here,” he said slowly, “and not only your nights.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you would be with me in the court, in the public—”

 

“Yes.”

 

Thranduil swallowed.

 

“Then yes,” he said, as levelly as he could. “I believe I would like that.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points to readers who can identify all the stories referenced! Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
